Tag Archives: satan

There’s this thing going around on the face book. It’s this thing called a ‘family reunion’. It’s a ward family reunion. See, my old ward was pretty transient. People would come for a couple of years then move to another state or even another country. It was a military ward. Every two years or so, it would be a whole ‘nother group of people in the ward. There were a few ‘old timers’, the people who had been there for 4 or more years, but for the most part, it turned over pretty regularly. People lose touch. They want to reconnect. A group is formed. Great idea. I often wondered about some of those people I knew way back when.

I loved this ward. Until I didn’t. Lots of people loved this ward. Until they didn’t. Lots of people loved the church. You get it. The funny thing is, I personally know a few (or more) people who were in this ward who no longer consider themselves Mormon.

So, I thought it would be sillybrilliant appropriate to create a group that took into account the fact that there are family members that might not be represented. The apostates. I hate that word, BTW. Can we call it something different? Suggestions? I felt like the apostates were disenfranchised.

So, Tex, being the ever-inclusive, did something about it. (Yeah, 3rd person. My ego is that big)

I created a secret group for the apostates. Have you seen it? No? OF COURSE NOT! IT’S SECRET, REMEMBER?! No one but the members of the group know who’s in the group.You might be surprised who shares your feelings. No one will say anything to anyone. It’s a safe place to be yourself.

Safe. No one will threaten to divorce you. No one will yell at you. No one will shun you or discourage you from ‘having questions’. We ask each other questions. Thought-provoking questions that don’t have easy answers.

You mofos know how to get in touch with me. If you don’t know how to specifically, you know someone who knows someone who can get in touch with me. Let me know if you want to be counted. You’ll be counted among the family of apostates, the small (but ever growing) group of people who no longer – well, blah blah blah. If you’re an apostate and you know it, clap your hands!

…in the name of Her Honorable Queen Bishop ‘Tex’ the Benevolent, drink wine.

Has that ever happened to you? I still need to blog about my trip home from Vegas. I also need to take you on a photographic journey through the wonderful food and libations fair Mr. T and I went to last Saturday. Also, this apostate blog wouldn’t be complete without a rundown of the unholy things our family did over this conference weekend. Lastly, I want to talk about the potentially super-easy way to make money doing super-unskilled work.

But here’s my problem: No laptop. It’s dead. And I always have stupid little people around here. And when I don’t have people under 18 around me, I have Mr. T. And believe it or not, I like chillin’ wit my Homie when he’s around. Except for now, because he’s shredding paper and I’m on the computer. Blogging. About what I want to blog about. I’m stupid.

But for me, blogging is like taking a shit. I need to be all by myself. I can’t have distractions all around me. I need silence. Also, I don’t need my offspring to be able to look over my shoulder and read what I’m writing. However, I’m pretty sure my nosey-ass teenager reads this blog too. Why do I think this? Because yesterday, when we were in Ulta, we discovered a new nail polish color,

and she suggested I buy it. “Because…,” she said. MmmmHmmm, right. I got ya.

And now I have pretty much lost my train of thought because of the damn loud ass paper shredder that is making me feel like picking it up and throw it across the FUCKING room because it’s so loud. I am totally spazzing out because of it right now. I might just need to distract Mr. T with a BJ so he’ll stop disturbing my mental health because I’m seriously going to scream!!!!

I never have been. I guess you could say I grew up Catholic. I did the first Holy Communion thing, but that was really it. I attended CCD for a year or two, but I had no idea what anything meant. We went to church on Easter occasionally. Then they built a new Baptist church right down the street from our house. We stopped going to mass, and started going there. And by going there, I mean the one time a year.

I didn’t grow up in a home where we talked about God. Well, that’s not true. We said, “Oh my God!” pretty frequently, so I guess we called upon God all the time. But I don’t think that’s the same. We spoke of Jesus in quite the same way. As in, “Jesus Christ! You’ve gotten big!” So, I knew that God and Jesus had something to do with one another. I knew the Christmas story, but that’s all it was to me. Just a story.

The first time I had to officially declare my religion was when I joined the Army. They make you tell them so they can put it on your id tags. Ya know, in case you get killed so they can give you a proper burial. Well shit! I didn’t know what to say. So I said Atheist. I didn’t believe in God, at least I didn’t think I did. So what ? I did go to church during basic training, though. Know why?

It got me out of extra chores around the barracks.

I got to talk to the guys in the other companies. (1993, female and male companies were segregated)

Drill sergeants weren’t all up in our asses.

Fast forward 5 years. I’m married and expecting my second child. My husband and I decide we need God in our lives. We both ended up joining the Mormons. I had to be taught about everything about Jesus. I was completely clueless. I didn’t understand it. At. All. It didn’t really make sense to me. I didn’t have any faith. I didn’t know how to have faith. Then they told me about the parable of the mustard seed in Alma 32. I decided that it was good enough to just want to believe in it. I mean, why not? I was supposed to believe in God, wasn’t I? I hadn’t ever even imagined any of the stuff the missionaries were told me. As of that point, I believed this: You’re born, you live, you die. That’s it. That was all I knew. That was all I had ever experienced. So we joined. It worked for us for a long time. You’ve read the old blog? Right? No? Why the hell not? 1, 2, 3.

I guess the point of all this is that I don’t think I ever really believed in ‘God’. It just never made sense to me that there is some heavenly being out there that is keeping tabs on the good things and the bad things I do in my life. And if I don’t do the right good things, then I will be punished and eternally tormented. I can’t wrap my head around the belief that there is an imaginary person who controls the world and its people and their lives. I always had a problem with the micromanaging Mormon god. (I read that term on someone’s blog and I can’t remember who) I mean, does god really care how many earrings I wear, how many tattoos I have, what kind of underwear I wear? Doesn’t he have more important things to worry about?

And I don’t believe in Santa either. I mean, Satan. Sorry. ‘Tis the Christmas season. Oh yeah, Satan. I don’t believe that shit either. Really? There’s this evil spirit that is on the prowl to capture souls and drag men around with his evil heavy chains making them submit to his will. Yeah, ok, suuure.

So, I’m not religious. I don’t believe in god. Big fuckin’ deal. You should be glad that you’re friends with someone who makes choices based on her own conscience, and not because it would make the god happy. You should also be glad that you know someone who takes responsibility for her own choices and actions, and doesn’t blame satan for the ‘sinful‘ things she does and feels. Also, be glad that you have a friend who is open minded, nonjudgemental (unless you use old t-shirts to wipe your ass), uninhibited, and real.

I don’t care if you are Mormon. I don’t care if you believe in god. I don’t care if you believe in faries that live in your garden. Are you honest? Are you kind? Are you respectful? I care if you can answer yes to those questions. That’s what really matters to me. What matters to you?